


Warped Tour: A Great Place For Homophobes To Meet Hot Guys

by anchvrdown, pagodacom



Series: One Shots With Broccoli and Lil-Bag [5]
Category: This Doesn't Really Have A Fandom
Genre: DO NOT TAKE ANYTHNG IN THIS SERIOUSLY, IF YOU DO NOT LIKE JOKES BEING MADE ABOUT DONALD TRUMP AND OR ADOLF HITLER DO NOT READ THIS, M/M, Male Pregnancy, Mpreg, Strangers to Lovers, THIS IS ALSO NOT INTENDED TO BE OFFENSIVE, Warped Tour, sex mention, this is a joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anchvrdown/pseuds/anchvrdown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagodacom/pseuds/pagodacom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adolf Hitler does not like gay bands. Neither does Donald Trump. However, when the two meet at Warped Tour one year, things don't go as straight as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warped Tour: A Great Place For Homophobes To Meet Hot Guys

**Author's Note:**

> **This is a joke and not intended to be taken seriously. If you do not like slightly offensive humor about Adolf Hitler and/or Donald Trump (Joseph Goebbels as well) DO NOT read this story. You will most likely not enjoy it.**
> 
>  
> 
> As always, this was originally posted to wattpad on Lily's/bandsarebad's wattpad account (coldheartedweirdo) so go check it out there if you have a wattpad.

Adolf Hitler was watching Miss May I’s set at Warped Tour 2015 while holding a tub of warm tomatoes. The tub itself was unbearably hot and burned to the touch; Hitler combatted that by wearing extremely comical oven mitts covered in swastikas. He kept getting weird looks from people around him, but Hitler just gave them his signature death glare and they looked away. In fact, an entire circle had been cleared around Hitler. It was clear that no one wanted to go near him and Hitler was perfectly fine with that. He didn’t want to be associated with these disgusting people anyways. 

Hitler didn’t usually go to places like this. He knew that they were full of young people corrupted by society into thinking blasphemous things: like that Jews actually deserve human rights. Hitler had to hold in vomit when he thought about that. 

However, he had heard that there was a band playing that had gay members and Hitler simply couldn’t let that pass, so he forced himself to attend in order to restore order to these corrupted children. Koo Koo Kanga Roo was also on the lineup and Hitler had been waiting to see them for way too long, but that wasn’t the main reason he was there. He had to keep reminding himself of that. 

Halfway through the set, a heavier song began, and so did the moshing. (Miss May I’s music was already unnecessarily heavy, but this song was even more so.)

Hitler struggled to remain upright, and had even more trouble preventing the tomatoes from falling out of the tub. He couldn’t afford to lose any of his projectiles, as the band he was saving them for hadn’t played yet.

The disgusting gay band that Hitler had attended for was called Pierce the Veil. Hitler fought to prevent angry foam (that made him look like a rabid animal) from falling out of his mouth whenever he even thought about them. Pierce the Veil’s lead singer apparently was in a relationship with the male lead singer of another band. Another commonly known fact was that Pierce the Veil’s bassist was extremely stupid, and stupid people needed to be disposed of. Hitler couldn’t wait to bombard the band with the red vegetables in his arsenal. 

After fighting off the hoards of kids practically being thrown into him, the song stopped, and Hitler made the mistake of thinking that he was safe; until a man that could only be described as the human version of a cheeto with fake blond hair knocked into him, sending the tomatoes flying everywhere and causing Hitler to accidently drop the blazing hot, rather heavy tub onto his third left foot. 

Hitler turned to look at the person who knocked into him, and prepared to start screaming at him in rapid-fire, extremely angry German. Hitler managed to finish his first sentence before he had to stop.

Even though this man looked incredibly stupid with his bleach blonde hair and orange skin, Hitler couldn’t help but admit that this man was strangely attractive; suddenly Hitler wasn’t angry anymore. He didn’t think that was possible, Hitler was always angry over something, usually multiple things at once. But know he felt a strange sense of calm and serenity wash over him. 

The orange man immediately noticed that Hitler was no longer screaming at him and sent a coy smile his way. Hitler couldn’t help but blush. 

The man wasted no time introducing himself and holding out his hand.

“My name is Donald J. Trump, nice you meet you!”

Hitler hesitated before responding, his thick german accent extremely prominent. 

“Guten tag, my name is Adolf Hitler.”

Hitler was expecting this man, who he now knew was called Donald, to have a negative reaction to his accent; there was something about him that made Hitler think that he hated immigrants for no reason. Surprisingly, Donald had barely any reaction towards his accent, instead of frowning, his smile simply grew. 

The two men seemed to be pulled into some sort of trance, staring into each other’s eyes for over a minute, completely unaware of the people bumping into them. Then Hitler’s ears were rewarded with the sweet, sweet sound of silence from the stage in front of them. 

Based on what he had observed earlier, there would probably be ten minutes before the next band came on. And that band just so happened to be Pierce The Veil. Hitler simultaneously suppressed a gag and jumped for joy. He had been waiting far too long for this. 

Donald lifted something up from the dusty ground where it had been waiting for its use. Hitler looked at it, and beamed when he realized it was a sign that read “TRUMP HATES FAGS” in huge block letters. 

“I’ve been waiting to use this thing for weeks,” Donald confessed. 

Hitler couldn’t stop smiling, which was something that had never happened before. The sign was beautiful, Donald was beautiful, the whole day was beautiful.

“I love it,” Hitler commented, scowling at the small children around him who looked outraged at Donald and his sign. Adolf was sorry for the children who had been raised to believe that gays had the right to stay alive, and that Jews shouldn’t be mass murdered, and that it was rude to throw tomatoes at people. It wasn’t rude perse, it was more necessary as they were going to be used to injure gays and stupid people. Honestly, these kids should be thanking Hitler for taking the time to better the community. 

A few minutes passed and the people around them began cheering. This must mean that the gay band was getting ready to walk on stage. Hitler quickly explaining his plan to Trump, and was exuberant when he agreed to help with the pummeling of tomatoes. 

Hitler had made sure to arrive at the stage as soon after the gates opened as possible in order to get a spot close enough to throw vegetables. He was rather pleased that he had in fact secured such a first-class position, even though it meant standing in blistering heat holding a burning hot tub for hours on end. It was worth it. 

Hitler’s eardrums were hit with a torturous sound that sounded even worse than the previous band. The vocalist of this band sounded like squeaky car brakes, and Hitler wasn’t sure if he would be able to throw tomatoes through the whole set without having to cover his ears with his high class oven mitts to block the terrible sounds being emitted from the speakers. Hitler set the tub on the ground in front of him and yanked off said high class oven mitts to crack his knuckles, and readied himself for the task ahead. Hitler arched his right arm back, squinted at the guitar-wielding screecher on the stage, and pitched the tomato over the crowd of horny teenage girls, and even a few horny guys. Disgusting, all of them. Trump stood on his tiptoes to get an even better view of what Hitler had done, which caused him to lift the sign even higher in the air. Both men let out cries of joy when their projectile detonated on the shoulder of the screecher. To their utter horror and shock, he didn’t stop playing his guitar, and just laughed. Trump handed his sign to a little girl who was busy eating an ice cream cone, and grabbed some of Adolf’s tomatoes. Together the two bombarded the stage with the warm vegetables, and were just beginning to feel satisfied when Hitler felt a tap on the shoulder. Hitler didn’t like to be tapped on the shoulder, or even be touched at all by people he didn’t know, and he whirled around to spit at the person in rapid-fire German, just as he had planned on doing to Donald before realizing how beautiful he was. And that didn’t make Hitler gay, he was just appreciating another guy. Nothing wrong with that, or at least, that’s what Hitler told himself. Trump clamped a hand over Hitler’s mouth--further aggravating the shorter man--when he realized who they were talking to. 

It was the King of Warped Tour himself, Beau Bokan.

~

Neither Hitler nor Trump had planned on getting thrown out of Warped that quickly, but were pleased that they had gotten a decent amount of good hits in. Trump had reclaimed his sign and Hitler still had his oven mitts, so all was well for them. 

The two stood awkwardly outside of the gates of Warped for a few minutes, thinking about what they would do now that they could not condemn the gays. Or, at least not those specific gays.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Trump said something, he didn’t give up on Hitler, which the Austrian greatly appreciated. 

“I had to get a hotel room as I don’t live close enough to any of the Warped dates to drive back home afterwards. Do you want to come over and hang out? We could figure out ways to get back at those stupid gays in a band.”

Hitler was taken aback at first, as that was not what he was expecting Trump to propose, but he couldn’t deny the company of an extremely handsome man. 

Hitler gave a quick, curt nod before following Trump to his car on the side of the parking lot next to the nearby forest. Hitler could get his own car later. 

The drive to the hotel was rather uneventful, with Trump turning on the pop radio at low volume. Hitler stiffened but didn’t say anything, lest it ruin his chances with Trump. The only music Hitler truly appreciated was the German national anthem blasted at full volume. And Richard Strauss, but only him. 

Twenty øne minutes later and they had arrived at their destination; it was a respectable hotel chain, not too fancy but not too dingy either. Hitler was pleasantly surprised, as he did not get the vibe from Trump that he was rolling in cash. How wrong he was. 

The two men walked through the hotel lobby towards the elevators located on the opposite end of the room; when they entered the metal box of death, Trump pressed the button marked 24 and they began moving. When they reached the 24th floor, the two exited the elevator and made their way down the hallway to the room Trump had purchased. Hitler quickly filed into the room after Trump held the door open for him. He heard the buzzing from the hotel room, signifying that he was now locked in a room with the one and only Donald Trump. Hitler gulped, although he wasn’t really sure why he was suddenly so nervous. 

It was almost one in the morning and Hitler was now making an attempt to fall asleep after it was determined that he would stay over, for the night at least. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, Hitler felt the strong, yet rather flabby, arms of Trump wrap around his torso. Hitler broke out into a massive grin despite himself. He was then lulled to sleep by the other man’s rhythmic breathing. 

~Three days later~

Hitler was sitting, bent over on his toilet, clutching a pregnancy test with one hand and his aching head in the other. He anxiously glanced at the piece of plastic he was clutching in his left hand, seeing what the result was. Hitler had a very good reason to be extremely nervous as he waited to see what the result would be, this result had the ability to change his life permanently, and the change might very well be catastrophic. Hitler glanced down at the plastic stick in his hands, and dropped the thing on the floor when he saw the double lines appear on it. 

Adolf Hitler was pregnant. 

~

Hitler spent the three days after discovering that he was pregnant wallowing in shame and sitting on his couch, eating way too much rocky road ice cream. He was to distraught to even go into work, which is something that Hitler never expected to happen. 

Hitler was a very successful finance banker, mostly working with people trying to take over the world; it was safe to say that Hitler knew a lot about trying to take over the world.  
Eventually Hitler came to terms with what had happened and gathered up the courage to call Trump and inform him that they were pregnant. Hitler was certain that it was Trump’s, as he had never had sex before, like any other self-respecting person. Trump had given Hitler his number the before he left on the night he stayed over so they could contact each other if they had to, and Hitler’s fingers shook as he entered the number into the payphone that sat in the back of his office. He added about 30 dollars worth of quarters into the machine, and sat waiting for 10 minutes as the phone rang and rang. Finally, the hell forsaken ringing stopped and somebody picked up. 

“Hello?” Donald Trump’s angelic voice rang through Hitler’s ears, and he almost didn’t feel as bad about the fact that he was pregnant with this man’s baby. 

“Allo, zis is Donald Trump, correct?” Hitler said, his german accent strong as ever. 

“Yes, I am the magnificence that is Donald J. Trump.” Hitler could practically hear the arrogance dripping off of his words. 

“Very good, now I have some bad news.” Hitler sucked in an unhealthily long breath before replying, the air release from his exhale being picked up by the receiver. 

“I’m pregnant, and it has to be yours.”

What followed next was three minutes of solid silence, the only thing Hitler being able to hear from the other line being panicked breathing. Hitler didn’t know what to say either, and the silence went from apprehensive to just plain awkward. Hitler could hear Donald clearing his throat and trying to think of something to say. 

“Well, I hate to have to have to say this to you Adolf, you seem like an extremely kind man, but…” Hitler sharply inhaled, bracing himself for the other man’s next words.

“I do not approve of gay children and therefore cannot provide for this child, nor do I ever want to be in communication with you ever again. Good day.”

Hitler attempted to start yelling at the other man, but didn’t to get any words in before the line went dead.

~

In the nine months following his (rather dramatic) falling out with Trump, Hitler had managed to come to terms with his pregnancy and the affect it had and will have on his life. 

Heck, he was even excited to have a child, which was something that Hitler never expected to think, ever.

It was on one faithful Thursday morning when it finally happened. 

Hitler was walking back from Starbucks with his completly baby-friendly coffee back to his apartment while simultaneously stroking his extremely swollen stomach. 

He suddenly felt a strange feeling from underneath his womb, almost like he was about to give birth. 

Hitler immediately started panicking and reached into his khaki colored cargo pants to reach his Nokia 3000 phone and call his best and only friend Joseph Goebbels. 

Goebbels took his sweet time answering his phone and only picked up after the seventh ring. Hitler would have been pissed if he wasn’t so freaked out about what was happening to him. When Joey finally picked up, Hitler remembered that he hadn’t exactly told his friend that he was pregnant. 

However, Hitler was too freaked out over his pregnancy to consider the connotations revealing he was pregant would have to his best friend. In hindsight, he wasn’t sure how Goebbels hadn’t noticed since his stomach-region has been steadily expanding for months on end. Maybe he did notice but didn’t want to say anything in case he wasn’t right. Who knows, it could have just been a beer belly. An extremely swollen and round beer belly. 

“JOEY!” Hitler screamed into the phone, paying no mind to the people around him who were looking at him weirdly, “YOU NEED TO GET HERE RIGHT AWAY! I THINK I’M GOING INTO LABOR!”

There was a silence over the line, except for Hitler’s overly dramatic panting. 

Finally, Goebbels responded: “Alright, I’m heading towards my car right now. Where are you?”

“By the Starbucks on Thames Street, near South Broadway, in front of the hard liquor and not-hard weed store.”

Goebbels gave a quiet sound of affirmation and hang up, presumably starting his drive into the city from the bouncy castle he resided in that sat in an empty lot somewhere in the suburbs. Hitler had tried to talk him out of it several times but Goebbels wouldn’t budge.

Hitler slipped his phone back into his right pocket and looked around hastily for a bench or other seat-like thing to sit on and relieve some of the pressure coming from his pelvic region until Joey arrived. 

Thankfully there was a bench outside of the liquor store, and he wasted no time collapsing onto it, squeezing next to a man with stupidly parted hair, glasses, and a scruff-like beard that could only be described as a dish rag. The man was currently alternating between a half-full bottle of whiskey and a joint, one in each hand. 

Hitler was too exhausted to deal with this man and simply give him one of his signature glares until he looked away. 

The five minutes following their two second exchange were the most painful 300 seconds of Hitler’s entire life. He was left at the mercy of a man who preferred to be called “Joey” (like no reasonable adult man should) to hurry the fuck up so that he didn’t give birth on the sidewalk in front of a weed store next to a strange man who was no doubt too drunk and high to be of any help. 

Finally, Goebbels pulled up to the curb, and Hitler walked as fast as he could as a pregnant person in labor and practically launched himself into the passenger seat.

Goebbels immediately started speeding towards the hospital, much to Hitler’s relief. He was in so much pain that he wasn’t sure if he would be able to speak at all. 

As they were rather close to the city-center, it didn’t take long for them to reach the hospital. 

~

Labor had taken much longer than Hitler was expecting, it took him one hundred and eighty two hours lying on a pathetic hospital bed just to pop out a baby. It was even worse for him than other people because he didn’t even have the hand of the other parent to squeeze to death. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that he blacked out as soon as the baby started to exit the womb. 

~

Hitler woke up in a different bed than the one that he fell asleep, which was partially terrifying, but at least this bed was much more comfortable. He tried to stretch, but was met with aching muscles that simply refused to move at all. Hitler sighed in defeat and allowed his eyes to move down his body, eventually reaching his stomach.

Hitler had to hold in puke as he observed the red, stitched-up line that spread across the skin of his womb. There was only explanation for this - he had gotten a c-section.  
But that didn’t make any sense, Hitler could distinctly remember the baby’s head sticking out before he blacked out, so why did he need to get a c-section?

Hitler sat in bed pondering this for several minutes before a nurse finally wandered into his room to check up on him. 

“How are you feeling Mr. Hitler?” She asked politely, reaching over to hand him a much appreciated glass of water. “The triplets are all faring beautifully, and you should be able to see them within two hours, if all goes well.”

“TRIPLETS?!” Hitler exclaimed, staring blankly at the nurse, waiting for her to give an explanation. 

“Yes sir,” She supplied patiently, “after you blacked out the doctor discovered that there were two more babies inside your womb, and after successfully removing the first one, he had to perform an emergency c-section to extract the other two. You’re very lucky, most of the time during pregnancies like that, all of the babies don’t survive.”

Hitler would have smiled knowing that he was one of the rare cases where everything worked out, but he was still in shock.

Triplets.

Hitler simply couldn’t believe it. Three babies, not one. Hitler wasn’t even sure if he would be able to support one child, definitely not three!

At least he would get child support from that stupid Donald Trump. Hitler would love to drain his entire bank account in spite of what Trump had done to him. 

Unfortunately, that would probably not happen as the world wasn’t fair. He would just have settle for the extra child support. 

~

As the nurse had said, two hours after waking up, Hitler got to meet his children. None of them were named yet, and Hitler wasn’t sure what to call any of the small wrinkly little things. He had attempted to come up with names before he went into labor, but for some reason traditional german didn’t seem to fit. 

One of them had a disgusting, scrunched up little face that looked annoyed at everything already. Hitler scowled at him. Maybe to remind him of Donald, he would give his kids american names. Hitler thought of the most boring, generic name he could think of. He mulled over this for a couple minutes before setting on a name. 

Thomas, or Tom for short. 

The other two looked more peaceful than Tom as weren’t making faces that made them look like frogs. One of them had wide set eyes and Hitler could already imagine him as an old man, despite the fact that he had just been born hours ago. Hitler tried to think of a name that an angry old man whose only joy in life was reading the newspaper would have. Herbert and Sherbert crossed his mind, but Mark seemed to be a more child-friendly name that wouldn’t ruin this child’s life, as if having Adolf Hitler as a father wouldn’t ruin it already. 

The last child seemed like the most unproblematic of the three, and Hitler decided not to hate this one. He called him Travis. The name Travis sounded like tires and tires were aesthetically pleasing to Hitler, so why shouldn’t he name his son that? He was doing better at naming his children than Chris Martin, Pete Wentz, and Derek Sanders were, at least. 

And as Hitler continued to hold Travis and bounce him lightly in his arms, with Mark and Tom crawling around on his lap and by his legs on the hospital bed, Hitler feel a sense of contentedness, and pure happiness, something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Hitler had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, having kids (and triplets at that) might not be that bad.


End file.
